


vaguely downwards (lies, and reasons why)

by doodlebutt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Crowley is a liar, Falling (with a capital F), Gen, M/M, Nightmares, please be kind to me this is the first thing I've written in months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlebutt/pseuds/doodlebutt
Summary: Crowley is a liar. For different reasons, at different times.





	vaguely downwards (lies, and reasons why)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm back. Maybe. Not sure if this counts as an old fandom or a new one, since it's been years since I read the book but only days since I fell in love with the show. Anyway... Enjoy whatever this is, I suppose!
> 
> Inspired by https://retrouvel.tumblr.com/post/185578047732/okay-so-i-know-he-sauntered-into-hell-but-i-live

Crowley still has nightmares sometimes.

The rush of air that grows hotter and hotter until each breath burns. The stench of sulphur dizzying after aeons of freshness. The failing of all light, shadows chasing him, closer with every metre until the concept of radiance is a faint memory.

The blinding pain of wings burning down to the bone. Leaving a comet-trail of ash and debris as he Falls. 

Seeing the cracked ground through a bright yellow haze when he finally opens his eyes, after.

*

_Sauntered vaguely downwards._ That had been the biggest lie of all.

At first he had lied as defence against the memories. If he told a less painful story, then he wouldn't have to relive the truth of it -- at least that was the theory. In practice it didn't always work out, but, well. He slept alone. Did most things alone, in those earlier centuries.

Then it was shame. The vulnerability of exposing what had really happened was unthinkable. Pain like that, the kind which tears open your entire soul (though, on reflection, that was rather the point of Falling), is not something one admits to lightly. And Crowley did everything lightly -- it was so much easier to tell himself he didn't care about any of it. About humanity, about the difference between good and evil (and Good and Evil), about his job, about Falling...

About the angel. 

Aziraphale. 

Crowley had always known he was afraid of Falling. From that first day in the Garden -- _oh, oh thankyou, it's been bothering me_ \-- well, of course every angel was afraid of Falling, but Aziraphale wore it more openly than most. And Crowley knew... well, he didn't _know,_ but he suspected that _fraternising_ with a demon might be cause enough to precipitate it, had anyone else from either side actually been paying attention. 

Of course this meant he should leave Aziraphale alone, for his own sake -- or did it mean that he should tempt him further? Wasn't that the point of being a demon in the first place? 

Crowley couldn't bring himself to do either.

So he lied, because if there was even the faintest possibility that Aziraphale could Fall, Crowley was determined that he shouldn't know what it actually felt like before it happened. It would only make it worse. Not that he actually admitted to himself that this was the reason, of course -- no, on the surface it was just the same old lie he had been telling for thousands of years. 

*

_You can stay at my place, if you like._

When Crowley woke abruptly in the darkest hours of the morning to sheets twisted around his ankles, black feathers askew in wings he had certainly not given permission to manifest, the echo of someone's hoarse scream still ringing in his ears, and Aziraphale's concerned face hovering next to him, his first thought was _oh, fuck._

He groaned and pushed his face deeper into the pillow at the same time as Aziraphale said "Crowley, my dear, are you alright?".

"I'm fine," he lied, the pillow doing a very poor job of disguising the shudder in his voice. "Absolutely peachy. Nothing to see here." His wings vanished, attempting to prove his point, but a few moments later he felt the mattress dip beside him as Aziraphale sat down. 

And another few moments later, he felt the light touch of a hand on his back. Which then started to move, gently tracing circles of coolness against his feverish skin. 

Crowley was so surprised, all his instincts to stiffen or lean away or at least _move_ in some way flickered and died in the first moment of his brain short-circuiting.

"What...are you doing...?" he managed after several very long seconds which might actually have been at least ten minutes. 

"I'm... not entirely sure." At least, some slightly hysterical part of Crowley thought, they both sounded equally shaken by the situation now. "I just, well, I want to help, dear, and if you're not going to talk, well then, I suppose I'll have to, well, make do." 

Crowley sat up, all at once and without thinking too much about what he was doing. Aziraphale stared at him.

"I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Saunter. At all. It was...worse."

"Oh, _Crowley."_ Aziraphale paused, and the expression in his eyes was of such deep sympathy that Crowley wished he could look away. "I know." 

There was a very long, very heavy pause. 

"...what?" 

"I know what Falling is, my dear." Aziraphale sighed. "I know there's no possible way to escape the pain of it. Of course I don't have any direct experience on the matter, but, well... I can't imagine it's pleasant." 

"But --"

"Crowley, I know what you look like when you lie." 

*

It was as if something broke, that night, the last night of the end of the world and the first night of the rest of their lives. Something old, and fragile, and very well-protected. 

Something which should have broken a long time ago. 

There was more to say, of course, afterwards, and as dawn broke over the First Day of the new world, and as they walked in the park together, and of course there were other matters to deal with then. But the next time Crowley woke (after all, neither demons nor angels need to sleep every night, and Crowley for one had always been reluctant) it was to -- well, it was to something much more pleasant than the last time. 

Aziraphale smiled, close enough to touch, and Crowley did just that. 


End file.
